The Beginning
I look at a photograph of me as a young child sitting on the tractor with my Uncle Edwin who has a pipe hanging from his mouth. It was 1958 on a hot Alabama day. This was the Deep South. Humidity wrapped around you like a moist blanket. Sometimes if the breeze hit you just right, you felt caressed by Mother Nature herself.
All of ones senses activated and through the senses this extraordinary thing called Life. A beckoning towards something that seems endless and eternal. But what is that?
For now, a slice of watermelon while rocking on the porch eases the deep thoughts and your mind is free to wander onto the fields and sky. Today is today. Yesterday is yesterday. Tomorrow is tomorrow.
The religion of my grandparents left nothing to the imagination. Though it gave them something on which to lean, to depend, it seemed chaotic and unsurelike people getting into emotional turmoil for Jesus. Jesus was the answer and there was no room for questions. This did not fit in with my nature religion. I, of course, had not given it any name, but I felt it and knew something was there.
When I turned eight, our family moved to India. My stepfather was working for the State Department.
This was the first time I began to recognize that something of human form and creation coincided with what I was beginning to see. The world of India was completely different. Temples and stupas were full of intrigue and mystery unlike the sterility and boredom of the Baptist churches.
After spending a few years in India, we moved to Thailand, the Philippines and finally England where I graduated high school. It was in England where my mind continued to expand. I read and read, questioned and questionedfrom politics to psychology to religion.
One day I was introduced to a book called The Way of Zen by Alan Watts. I couldnt put it down. There was something about Zen Buddhism that spoke directly to me.

The flower opens and the world arises
Chuandeng lu 3
My wish was to meet an authentic Zen Master.

In the Presence of A Zen Master
Having a mind neither stilled nor disturbed in the presence of all things in the environment, neither concentrated nor distracted, passing through all sound and form without lingering or obstruction is called being a wayfarer.
-Pai-chang

A telephone call from my cousin in Annapolis, Maryland announces that a Zen Master has been interviewed in the Washington Post. He apparently lives nearby, so I hurriedly write to the Washington Post to request his address in order to meet him. Then it occurs to me that maybejust maybe he is listed in the telephone book and he is.
Grasping the phone and with a nervous voice and trembling knees, I speak first to his wife, an American.
She sounds friendly. Yes, I would be happy to get him.
I wait quietly staring anxiously out at the Chesapeake Bay.
Herro!
AhyesReverendmy name is JohnandwellI was wondering if youI mean, if Icould meet with you sometime. I saw your interview in the Post.
Ahyesso-so-so! Hmmmm, good. Yah, sure! I get wife to tell directionsOK?
Thank you yes. Handing back the phone, she gives me directions to a place called Deerwood, in Maryland.
This was it. I was now actually going to talk with a real life in-the-flesh Zen Master! It felt as though I had just gotten a little enlightenment or mini satori just by the process of getting in touch with him.
Two days later I found myself in the office of his house drinking green tea. I could feel a strong force coming from him. He struck me as goodness itself, beauty itself. Maybe the robes had something to do with it, but noit was more than that. There was something about this man, to be sure.
He asked basic questions. What do I do? Where are my parents? What does my father do? When did I learn of Zen? We talk a little about meditation, he told me of his dislike for TM (transcendental meditation). You might as well hit yourself over the head with a hammer to get the same results! Meditation is a dynamic thing, not a dead thing.
After about an hours talk punctuated with long pauses, he invited me to stay for lunch. At lunch he was in a more jovial mood. His laugh was childlike and I found myself getting caught up in his humor, a mixture of wit and slapstick.
A few days later I went back and we discussed my training. He invited me to live with him saying that his wife liked me and was comfortable with me being in the same house. I was flattered by the invitation, but also a little nervous. To live in a friends house is one thing, but to live under the same roof with ones teacher 24 hours a day, is quite another.
My mother, was not especially pleased, feeling that this was drawing me away from what she felt were my Christian roots. At the same time she was going through problems with my stepfather. It looked like they were going to divorce and she was very worried about her security and future. I suggested that she talk to Zenji (Zen teacher).
A few days later, sitting on his couch, my mother was trying to be strong, but eventually broke into tears. Both of us sat quietly and then after a few minutes Zenji spoke up saying that it was a good thing at this time for her to support her son.